Holding On To Something
by Bill K. Prommer
Summary: AU. The streets of Ivalice are filled with criminals. When Basch, a captain of the local police force gets set up he wants to know why. But the reasons and motives aren’t as simple as they seem and he soon finds himself in over his head.
1. Mocking Gods

**Holding on to Something **by B. K. Prommer

'These people from Ivalice are very much like gangs' I always thought. It feels as if they're stuck in some serious real life misery so I wrote a story on just that. It's rated T now but depending on where the story is going could end up as an M. Every major and minor character will appear in this story as their criminal story counterparts; it kind of mirrors the actual story, but not entirely (because that would be no fun at all).

**Summary**  
_The streets of the city Ivalice are filled with criminals. When Basch, a captain of the local police force gets set up he wants to know why. But the reasons and motives aren't as simple as they seem and he soon finds himself in over his head. _

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing

* * *

**Chapter One: Mocking Gods**

"Where were you on the night of the 27th of August?" The young lawyer was already smirking before he heard him answer. This lawsuit was set in stone before it even began.

"I already told you I didn't do it!"

"Nonsense fon Ronsenburg."

He says it in such a mocking tone Basch can't do anything but frown.

"Your badge was found at the scene of the crime!"

"Objection! Assumptions are _not_ questions, your honor." His lawyer stood up trying to defend him.

_As if it would make a difference._

"My apologies. Captain fon Ronsenburg, is this or is this not your badge?" He threw the badge onto the desk, but the thump, for Basch it sounded louder than the judge's gamel.

"Aye." He lowered his head, knows it's over.

He didn't hear the guards coming after that, nor did he feel the cold metal handcuffs, he didn't see the flickering red and blue of police sirens as they came to get him. Nothing fazed him for the next ten years, except for that loud ringing in his head from the judge's gamel.

_Guilty as charged for the murder of Chief Raminas B'nargin Dalmasca._

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The air looked almost like an antithesis of that day. Basch couldn't help but smirk at the thought.

_As if the gods themselves were mocking him._

It was close to noon on the 9th of September. He had asked the guard while he walked to the prison gates. The same gates that took his life ten years ago and left him nothing. A black coke –bottled-style Dodge appeared around the corner.

_Finally some familiarity_.

The man had had the same car for eleven years now. He followed it with his eyes until it stopped right before his feet. A man stepped out with a blue suit, the same one he used to have. Emotion overtook him but he wasn't sure whether it was jealousy or melancholy. The man greeted him with a hug, similar to that of old friends.

"It's good to see you Basch." Vossler said as he looks at him with a smile.

Basch forced a smirk and murmured "Aye."

Vossler stepped back into the car and leaned to the passengers' seat door to open the lock.

_He still hasn't fixed that._ He thought as he opened the door. _Perhaps fewer things have changed than I expected. _

Basch couldn't feel anything but uncomfortable sitting in the car, nauseous even.

"Have you already eaten?" Vossler said not taking his eyes of the road.

"They've opened this new restaurant on the edge of town. It's real different than the ones we used to have in our area."

Basch chuckled at this comment. "You mean it's clean?"

Vossler laughed and looked in his direction.

"Fuck. That's what I said Basch." He looked back onto the road and took a right.

"Can eat off the fucking floor there."

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The restaurant had more in common with a road café than anything. Basch had to admit it looked decent though. Not that he had that much of a high standard after ten years of grey porridge in overcrowded cafeterias. Vossler requests they take a window seat stating he never loses sight of his trusty metal steed. Basch looked at the menu, fries, hamburgers, milkshakes; he had been craving real food for so long he barely remembered what their names were.

"May I take your order?"

A blonde girl came over to their table. She had pigtails in her hair although she in her mid-twenties, it suited her though. Vossler closed his menu and smiled at the young woman.

"I'll have a cheese omelet with bacon, some toast and coffee please. No milk, no sugar."

She nodded then looked at Basch expectantly. It takes him aback, if someone smiled in prison it meant you needed to get the hell out of the showers. Perhaps it was a bit more difficult to accommodate to normal life again than he thought.

"I'll have a cheeseburger combo and some root beer." He paused for a moment then added. "Please."

The woman nodded again and gave Basch her brightest smile.

"Coming right up!"

Vossler waited until the girl was out of hearing league then faced Basch.

"Have you found a place to stay yet?"

"I was hoping the motel on the south sprawl was still open."

Vossler raised an eyebrow. "You want to live in that dump?"

Basch nodded. "I do. That is, until I set some things straight."

Without warning Vossler slammed his fist on the table.

"Set what straight Basch? You've been in prison for ten fucking years. There's nothing to set straight!"

"That night ten years ago two witnesses allegedly saw me walk down that street, only it wasn't me. Vossler, someone set me up and I need to know who."

"Basch you were _captain_ in our police force. Everyone would try to set you up."

"Then tell me, what do you expect me to do? I'm 41 years old Vossler, I have no family, no money, I'll never be able to become a cop again…Vossler, I want to know the truth. Something I can hold on to."

"You want to know the truth Basch? Here's the truth, this city isn't even a fraction of what it used to be. They used to have fucking code in this city. No one ever said it but there was. Now what do we have? The Solidors own half the fucking city; I'm arresting kids no taller than my _thigh_ for pointing guns at me. You're telling me you want to hold on to something, well get in line because so does everyone else who wants to make an honest living in this hellhole." Vossler cursed again while nervously lighting a smoke.

"It doesn't matter what you say Vossler. Someone wanted to take me down and I want to know who."

"Well fuck Basch I hope the gods are on your side or something because I don't think you'll survive to see the day."

* * *

I always felt Vossler to be quite a bit of a hothead. So in an environment where you can smoke and curse…he would. Spelling mistakes are a no no, please tell me when you see one :)


	2. The Coffeehouse

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Coffeehouse**

"Here's my number." Vossler handed Basch a snippet of paper and some quarters. "Call me when you get some sense knocked back into you."

Basch simply held out his hand and looked at the motel in front of him. "I'll do that."

"Here." Vossler took a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his jacket and held it out for Basch. "Take these; you'll need them more than I do."

Basch shook his head. "I don't smoke."

Vossler let out a heavy sigh and restarted his engine. "Suit yourself." He beckoned his hand as to say goodbye then disappeared around a corner.

For the last forty years the motel at South Sprawl had been owned by Migelo, an honest fellow.

It was barren place full of rats and every other sort of scum. But for some it was a sanctuary. The orphans of Ivalice, or Migelo's little street rats as they were called, were the first and foremost residents of the motel. As for his other costumers, well, no one ever slept there unless they had no choice.

Basch opened the front door which let out a loud screech. The hallway was barely lit except for one flickering bulb above him. An old bangaa was sitting on a stool in the hallway. For Basch he hadn't changed a bit.

"May I help you?" The bangaa said with a raw voice.

"I want a single room." Basch started. Surprised that the bangaa didn't react to his return he traced a hand past his jaw line.

_The beard._

He hadn't realized that he still had his long hair and beard. He truly was a shadow of who he used to be.

The bangaa slowly took up his glasses, put them on his nose and looked at the ex-convict, inspecting his physique. "Can you pay?"

Basch put his hand in his pocket and took out a silver crest fastened to a necklace. "Real silver, I'm sure you can pawn it for at least more than a couple of months' stay."

Migelo let out his hand and took the necklace, inspected it for while, and then let out a sound of displeasure. "Keep it boy, some bad memories are best off remembered." He placed the silver back into Basch's hand and bent down to take out a yellow accounting book. "Room thirty-six is vacant; it's on the hall to your left."

"Thank you." Basch gave slight nod then walked on into the hallway.

"Wait." The bangaa called behind him causing Basch to stop in his tracks but not turn around.

"I forgot to ask your name, just front or last is all right they're just for accounting purposes anyway."

"fon Ronsenburg." He answered not looking back to see the baffled reaction on Migelo's face.

* * *

The room was just how he expected it to be.

Yellow and burned spots on the carpet floor and wallpaper, the smell of mold everywhere. He locked the door and slowly took off his clothes while sitting on the edge of the bed. Then he walked into the bathroom turned on the shower and gazed at himself in the broken sink mirror. If he had the means he would have gotten rid of his long hair and beard instantly. It felt like the scar of a bad memory, one that was too fresh. He turned away and stepped in the shower. The water was cold and was seeping out in a weak bundle. He closed his eyes trying to concentrate on what to do but all he could hear was Vossler's voice in his head. _The city wasn't even a fraction of what it used to be. _

Basch got out of the shower and sat on the bed, letting the air dry his skin. He put on his clothes again then walked outside of the room.

The hallway was deserted; even Migelo was nowhere to be found. When he stepped onto the streets he tried to remember something. Quietly he let his feet lead the way.

* * *

"Exactly where it used to be." He mumbled to himself while walking past some winded stairs into a coffeehouse not any bigger than the living room he had, long ago. This time, he was immediately recognized.

"Ah. If it isn't captain fon Ronsenburg." The only man present, an old man in lotus position smoking a hookah, raised his head to meet his eyes, greeting him.

"Ex-captain." Basch answered much to his own dismay.

"Yes, it would seem like it." He had a slight smile on his face as he said it. "Tell me _ex-_captain, why have you come to see old Dalan? So soon after you've come out of prison too."

"There are some facts that need to be straightened out, some questions that need answering." Basch hestitated. "An old friend told me that the streets have changed over the last ten years."

"Vossler often favours harsh words."

"Then, is it not so?"

Dalan now sat more upright gesturing Basch to sit on the floor opposite to him.

"I'm sure you've noticed how the streets have changed even while just walking down the pavements."

Basch sat down, uncomfortable on the cushioned floor. "I have."

"What you saw was the result of a force majeure. The cops here in Ivalice were a sound group, solid, mostly honest and hardworking. You were a steady force against the Solidors and even to the Margraces who lived mostly out of your jurisdiction. Some might a force a bit _too_ steady, yes, the Solidors without doubt thought of you as their number one enemies. You were an obstacle they needed to get rid of." Dalan paused while he blew out a large ring of smoke.

"However, I believe you already knew that." Basch nodded but didn't say anything.

"They were a few options they could try while getting rid of such a force. There was of course the option of using more force, or they could have threatened your families."

"They killed Rasler Nabradia son-in-law of the chief did they not?" Basch cut him off.

"Ahh, yes, indeed they did, yet did it work? If I remember correctly not long after that you doubled forces and arrested triple the amount of delinquents that month. No, fon Ronsenburg they needed something bigger than that something that would break the police forces in such a way they would never be able to recover. That is where you come into the picture fon Ronsenburg. You see, that day ten years ago, it didn't just shake _your_ life ex-captain, it shook the lives of everyone. The very foundation of trust and justice had been broken that day. That captain fon Ronsenburg, hero to many, had murdered his own chief in cold blood." Dalan leaned a bit back again. "Needless to say the city was in an uproar. A chaos big enough for the Solidor's to take their power and take it once and for all."

Basch looked at the old man but not in shock. Ten years really was a long time to think things through. "The Solidors run this city by themselves now?"

"I suppose they wish it was so. Within days new groups started rising in the streets. Guilds, Margraces, mercenaries and downright criminals. The city has become a haven to them. Pray, the people are sleeping awake because of fear."

"I see." Basch said absent mindedly.

"I do not know who tricked you ex-captain. But on the word of an old man: it was a cunning man who did it. A very cunning man indeed."

"Aye."

Dalan smirked put down his hookah and leaned a bit forward again. "Now I do not think you came here to listen to things you already knew. Tell me ex-captain: why have you come to see me?"

"There is someone I want you to contact for me."

* * *

The sun had already set when Basch walked back to the motel. Migelo was sitting on his chair again making loud snoring sounds, glasses almost falling off his beak. As quietly as he could Basch walked to his room. Migelo now knew who he was and he hadn't the time or the mood for questions. He was about to enter his room when he noticed a piece of paper sled half under his door.

_Meet me at the Sandsea tonight 23:00 for old time's sake.  
Vossler_

* * *

Bagamnan called his mouth a beak, so I called it that as well. Perhaps it's not correct though, he speaks like a ruffian doesn't he? Next chapter will start to get more fast paced.


End file.
